Page 55 of Rules

"THIS!" They echo.

"I can't wear that!"

"You can," Auntie says.

"You will," Mary says.

"I'm still not sure this is the right approach," I say hesitantly. "I mean, if he has genuine reasons for keeping his distance."

"Then he can explain them to you properly," Auntie says firmly. "Not in some drunken, self-pitying monologue."

"Exactly," Mary nods. "This isn't about tricking him into anything. It's about giving him a visual reminder of what he's denying himself."

"And then what?"

"And then?" Auntie's eyebrows shoot up, "do I need to have the birds and bees talk with you?"

"No, please no." I shake my head.

"But first, before the bow chicka wow wow," Mary adds with a wicked grin, "you knock him sideways with how gorgeous you are."

I bite my lip, considering. "You really think he's interested? This isn't just my imagination?"

"Honey," Auntie's voice softens, "that man is tying himself in knots over you. I don't know what's holding him back, but it's not a lack of interest."

"The drunk call proves it," Mary agrees. "People don't dial exes or crushes at midnight unless there are serious internal feelings involved."

"And that," I point to the outfit. "Is going to help me, help him sort out those feelings?"

"Yeppers," they both nod their heads.

"Alright."

An hour later, we're finally leaving the mall. I have to admit that I was shocked at how good I looked in the black outfit.Normally I wear bright colors but now I'm seriously considering adding in some darker colors.

Stopping in the parking lot since we each came separately. I laugh, "You two really are incorrigible. You know that right?"

"That's why you love us," Mary says.

"You make the outfit stunning. He'll react, you'll see."

As we part and I walk to my car, I feel a new sense of determination. If Tobias Trenton thinks he can brush me off with vague warnings and mixed signals, he's about to learn how persistent I can be.

Chapter 20

Tobias

I debated not going to Ruth's shop despite her call to Holly this morning about the security camera system she purchased. Since I'm already next door at the hardware store investigating security measures, it would be unprofessional to ignore her request. And even more for me to send a deputy when I'm already here. At least that's what I tell myself as I approach her door, my hand hesitating on the handle for just a moment before I push it open. My carefully constructed excuses evaporate the instant I step inside.

Ruth looks up from opening a large cardboard box, copper hair piled atop her head in a messy bun that exposes the elegantcurve of her neck. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to audibly gasp.

She's wearing a black dress that defies all logic and reason—cut high enough to reveal an expanse of her creamy thigh that makes my hands itch to touch, and low enough that her cleavage threatens to spill over at any moment. A delicate gray lace shawl hangs uselessly from her elbows, providing absolutely no modesty. And those boots—knee-high black leather that somehow make her legs look even more enticing.

My body reacts instantly, blood rushing south with such force I'm grateful for my tactical belt. Meanwhile, my brain screams in protest: SHE'S YEARS YOUNGER! MAINTAIN PROFESSIONALISM! But for once, my rational side is fighting a losing battle.

I'm a man accustomed to clarity of thought, to making decisions with conviction and following through without wavering. But standing here, watching Ruth move around that box with a grace that makes the dress cling to her curves, I'm experiencing what can only be described as an internal civil war. Meanwhile my dick is giving her a standing ovation.

I'm in trouble, and I know it.

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